


Motorway Bound

by waterofthemoon



Series: Unleash the Chaos (The FSU Jacket Zine) [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bondage, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley gets a wahoo, Crowley's Orange Jacket (Good Omens), Established Relationship, M/M, One Shot, Public Sex, Romance, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sexual Roleplay, The M25 Motorway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29642202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: In a scene involving his hi-vis jacket and the M25, Crowley gets captured by Aziraphale, tied to the motorway, and very willingly plundered for being a very good demon.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Unleash the Chaos (The FSU Jacket Zine) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174112
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs, Unleash The Chaos - Zine Fics and Art





	Motorway Bound

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of two explicit fics I wrote for Unleash the Chaos, the zine dedicated to Crowley's FSU jacket! Being part of this chaos was a total blast - thanks so much to the mods and my fellow contributors! 💖

"This was one of yours, wasn't it?"

Aziraphale's tone is light and conversational. It's completely at odds with the actions of his hands, which are currently tightening the knots keeping Crowley bound. They're outside, at the M1 interchange, and Crowley is completely at his mercy.

"You know very well it was," Crowley says. He jerks his head at the highway sprawling above them. "Told you the story, haven't I? Moved the pegs myself and everything." Cars whiz past, headlights glaring in the dark; none of the drivers pay them the slightest attention.

"Yes, and I do so appreciate your, shall we say, _hands on_ approach." Aziraphale, his sleeves rolled up and coat discarded, finishes his fussing and steps away to survey his work: Crowley, tied to one of the M25's support beams, almost completely naked in the moonlight. "There, I think that's you sorted."

Crowley tugs at his bonds, but Aziraphale's done the thing properly. There's pressure on his chest, the good kind, where the nylon fabric of his jacket holds him down.

It's his capering jacket, worn when he wants to be noticed only as long as it takes to get the job done—worn, as Aziraphale must know, the night he went traipsing about in the field where the motorway now sits. When he did the computer hacks, too, come to think of it. Aziraphale's wrapped the sleeves around the pole and used rope and a touch of his own power to make up the difference in diameter. The bulk of the fabric rests against Crowley's bare skin, rubbing him deliciously as he shifts around.

"If you're quite finished," Aziraphale says. His tone makes Crowley stand up a little straighter and stop pulling when Aziraphale moves closer.

Crowley shivers a little—there's something of a chill in the air tonight, which only adds to his anticipation—and bares his throat to Aziraphale. "It seems you've caught me," he says, making his voice wicked and flirty. "Doing my… dastardly deeds. Going to punish me, then?"

A sharp-edged smile spreads across Aziraphale's face. "You would like that, wouldn't you? I ought to just leave you here for your compatriots to find."

"Compatriots, really?"

Aziraphale's mouth twists into a moue. "I don't criticize _your_ acting choices."

"What about when—you know what, no, fine, carry on." Crowley waves a hand at him to continue, remembering in time that _he's_ the one tied to a concrete pole practically in the middle of nowhere, not Aziraphale. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can do to gain my freedom? A… favor, perhaps?" He wiggles his eyebrows. "You've already got me in quite the compromising position."

"Hmmm." Aziraphale circles him, then stops in front of him and caresses his jaw. "I suppose we could come to some kind of bargain."

His hand slips lower, then, down the entire length of Crowley's torso to fondle his bottom. One finger toys at his crack before withdrawing. Crowley thinks he's probably supposed to resist a little longer, but….

"Yes," he gasps, tilting his head back against the concrete. "You can have me. Anything you want."

Aziraphale makes a sound low in his throat. "So eager to give yourself up?" He runs a thumb over Crowley's cheekbone, more tenderly than the scene calls for; Crowley automatically leans into the touch and lets his eyes flutter closed. "Very well. I do think I'll enjoy taking you to task even more than I would turning you in."

Before Crowley can think of a clever response, Aziraphale grabs his thighs from behind and lifts Crowley's legs around his waist. Crowley tightens the grip, relishing the sensation of his bare feet grazing the soft velvet of Aziraphale's waistcoat.

"To tell you the truth, demon Crowley," Aziraphale says, "the work you've done here is—well, one shouldn't consider it admirable, given the effects, of course. But it _is_ noteworthy."

"You _like_ it." Crowley has enough leverage now to drag Aziraphale a little closer and does so, which puts a momentary look of chagrin on Aziraphale's face. "You think I'm _clever_. Doing this, the dread sigil Odegra, right under your nose, and all by myself? I mussst have been." He drags out the sibilants, lets his golden eyes catch the moonlight, so Aziraphale won't forget what sort of creature he's got in his clutches.

Aziraphale purses his lips and takes a half step back, but he doesn't let go of Crowley. "Well. The humans did all the work of building it. You just planted the idea."

"Did a fair bit more than that," Crowley retorts. "But enough shop talk. What are you going to do with me now?"

Bound as he is, Crowley can't do anything to stop Aziraphale from hitching his legs higher—from drawing a hand between them, ass to cock, and leaving him slick and open, still tingling with the miracle. He's agreed to lay off his own power unless he wants the scene to end, and he very much does not, not with Aziraphale undoing his trousers and pulling his gorgeous cock out with the hand not supporting Crowley.

When Aziraphale pushes in, he slams Crowley against the concrete pole, rough but not unforgiving. One of Aziraphale's hands goes behind Crowley's head, as careful and solicitous as Aziraphale always is with him, to prevent a nasty head injury; with the other, Aziraphale braces himself against the pole so he can fuck into Crowley with a punishing rhythm. Crowley's being held up only by the miracle of physics and his own legs crossed tightly behind Aziraphale's back, bare feet exposed to the cool air and slipping on the fabric of Aziraphale's waistcoat.

"Oh, just look at _you_ ," Aziraphale breathes out. He pulls almost all the way out, then plunges back in, making Crowley skid up the pole with the force of his thrusts. The support he's tied to is carved smooth, but not perfectly, and it scrapes against his back just enough to ground him. "You're taking your penance so well. How does it feel to have an angel's cock inside you?"

"Heavenly," Crowley spits back. It doesn't have near the bite it ought to. His cock ruts against the soft expanse of Aziraphale's belly, probably leaking fluids everywhere, and he's too busy getting fucked within an inch of his existence to care.

Crowley tries not to think too hard about how he wants to be witnessed in this moment by everyone driving by—naked, bound, and in the throes of reckless abandon. That would undo the work of Aziraphale's will keeping them hidden. It's enough for Aziraphale to see him just as he is, a demon who sometimes does demonic things and occasionally thinks himself very clever in the doing of them.

"You blasphemous thing." Aziraphale thrusts in again, harder; it changes the angle slightly, so that he's hitting Crowley's prostate on every stroke, and it's so good, so _good_ , that Crowley can hardly stand it. He's sweating underneath the nylon jacket and cold from the wind whipping around them, and his naked skin scrapes against the concrete pole, and it's, almost definitely, the best scene they've ever done.

"Ngk—demon," Crowley manages to gasp out. Aziraphale's eyes narrow, and he pounds into Crowley even harder, an open, desperate expression overtaking his face as he brings them both closer to orgasm. "Fuck, take me, let me have it. Fill me with that angelic come."

Aziraphale pushes in close and nips at his neck. "Shall I? Shall I make an example of you?"

"Fuck, _please_." Crowley strains against his bonds, but the jacket, knowing its purpose, holds firm.

"Say my name first." This is murmured directly into Crowley's ear, a shortcut to all his most primal desires, a thread of lightning directly to the live wire of his cock. "Let everyone know who's got you. You're _mine_ , and I'm not letting go."

_"Aziraphale!"_

With that, Aziraphale finally, blessedly gets a hand between them to touch Crowley's cock, but Crowley barely needs it—he goes off like a shot just from Aziraphale's fierce, possessive tone and from having Aziraphale inside him, _taking_ him. Not for the first time in his life, Crowley thinks it would be a pleasure to be smitten by Aziraphale.

Aziraphale fucks him through it, with the come spattered over his clothes and Crowley's jacket smearing between them. Just as promised, he spills inside Crowley after a few more urgent thrusts.

In the distance, Crowley hears the sound of cars crashing and angry shouts and guesses they weren't as quiet as they hoped. The M25's going to be backed up for _miles_ now. He doesn't care at all.

Aziraphale holds him there another moment, then taps Crowley's hip to let him know the scene's finished. "That's it," he says in a soothing voice. At the same time, he eases Crowley's legs down so his feet touch the ground again. "You were splendid, my dear. Very devilish."

"Come off it," Crowley says. He shifts under the jacket, not feeling nearly as provocative as he did when they started. Aziraphale takes the hint and moves behind him to undo his bonds. "That was all you."

"You were so very inspiring, though."

Once he's free, Crowley shakes the kinks out of his arms and shoulders. Then he looks over at Aziraphale, who's holding his stained hi-vis jacket. He's made such a mess of Aziraphale; there's come streaked all the way up his front, and his clothes are all rumpled in back from Crowley's legs clinging to him.

Remembering that he's free to use his natural talents now, Crowley snaps his fingers to restore Aziraphale's clothes to their usual state, then draws a hand up himself to put his own clothes back on. Aziraphale pouts at that, but it's not like Crowley naked isn't something he hasn't seen a thousand times already, and besides that, it's getting nippier the longer they stay out.

They both turn their attention to the jacket at the same time. Crowley hasn't cleaned it, and he's not even sure why. There's just something about looking at the damage he's done and remembering the pleasure in getting there, about feeling the ache in his bottom and the strain in his thighs.

"Would you like me to do it?" Aziraphale asks. His voice is gentle, but it sounds loud even under the traffic noise.

Crowley nods. Locking eyes with him, Aziraphale bends his head over the bundle of fabric and _blows_ , a thin stream of air escaping his puckered lips that dissipates the stains, like they were never there at all.

It's barely even sexy. It _shouldn't_ be sexy, except that Aziraphale fucking beams at him with a smile bright enough to rival the lights on the motorway, shakes out the jacket, and holds it out to him.

"You'll want to put that on, I think," Aziraphale says. "It's chilly out tonight! What do you say we go back to the bookshop and warm up, hm?"

Crowley takes the jacket and slips it on, threading his arms through the sleeves. It's an effective windbreaker, on top of making him feel cool and devious. One more look at Aziraphale, though, and all he wants to do is cuddle up in bed with him.

"Yeah, angel." He wraps an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders and steers him toward the Bentley, throwing one last look back at the M25, once but no longer his greatest success. "Let's go home."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! You can find me on Tumblr as [@waterofthemoon](https://waterofthemoon.tumblr.com).


End file.
